


Always Kiss Me Goodnight

by archfaith



Category: Gensou Suikogaiden, Suikoden, Suikoden II, Suikoden III
Genre: Blanket Fic, F/M, Love, Love Confessions, Love/Hate, Opposites Attract, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:29:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21627628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archfaith/pseuds/archfaith
Summary: Suikogaiden I: After Rean's attack on Nash and Sierra, the two share a stormy, anger-ridden, confused night in an old cabin in the woods. Buried feelings come out, and both learn that love is deeper than hate.
Relationships: Nash Latkje/Sierra Mikain
Kudos: 1





	Always Kiss Me Goodnight

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All Suikogaiden elements belong to Konami.
> 
> Timeline note: This takes place in Suikogaiden I, right after Rean's attack on Nash and Sierra.
> 
> Special note: This fanfic was originally published on fanfiction.net in 2004. As a part of rediscovering my old stories, I want to bring them to AO3 so that a new generation of readers can share in these stories that I love so much.

Always Kiss Me Goodnight

by ArchFaith  
2004

The large, opulent mansion.

_"Latkje! Awake this instant!"_

Ayana—so sweet. So vicious.

_"Come, don't just lie there!"_

Rean. She had loved him.

_"Why must this happen to you, of all people? And why to me?"_

Yeah. She had loved him.

He was aware of an exasperated voice coaxing him to wake, and a slippered foot roughly hitting his side. And then of arms—soft, yet firm—lifting him up. He felt his feet swept off the ground as a cursing voice rattled above his ear. And then nothing.

-

He heard the sound of gentle rain falling against a roof—a roof that was probably over his head. He felt a warm softness below him—a bed, probably stuffed with feathers. Straw, too. But mostly feathers. And a blanket. Wool, he thought sleepily. Or cotton.

A wet, earthy smell penetrated his nostrils, and he realized it was coming from the rain pounding the grass and dirt, mixed with the odor of wet logs and branches.

With a bit of effort he opened his eyes. Immediately a flicker of light flashed into view. Alarmed at first, he focused his vision and discovered it to be a solitary flame on a small candle that lay on a table next to him.

From what he could make out he was in a sort of cabin. Wooden walls, a few chairs and tables, the bed he lay on. Rain pounding the roof. A window. A figure leaning by the window.

He slowly propped himself up, grimacing as the pain in his chest seemed to stretch and affect every other part of his body. His traveling cloak had been stripped off and laid to the side, and his green and grey bodysuit looked incredibly dirty in the half-light of the candle.

"Heh. You're awake. Finally. Living flesh should never be wasted...even a piece as idiotic as yourself," the figure snapped, without even turning around. She was standing by the window, looking out onto the bleak landscape, lightning every now and then illuminating her bored looking face, her sleek slivery hair, her white dress.

"Well I see you survived," he managed to say, one eye closing as the searing pain engulfed him. "What...what happened?"

"Rean," she said dismissively, glancing over at him.

"I can see that. But where are we?"

"You really are a simpleton, you know that?" she retorted in annoyance. She shifted her body to face him directly. "You had several bruises and numerous bloody gashes. You were unconscious for a spell. I couldn't wake you up. So, I was forced to take you to a...hmm, what should I refer to it as...a safer venue. Here."

"And here is...?"

"I have no idea. Some old cabin I came across. It's unlikely anyone lives here." Her half-closed eyes studied him as he strained to keep himself up. "You're fortunate I was there, Latkje. I could have just taken off, leaving you to die, alone and unremembered. You should be _thanking_ me."

He sighed, inwardly amused. Was she going to start up again? Even now, after their harrowing little episode at the mansion? When he had unconscious and she had been emotionally rattled, when one of their lives might have been ransomed for the other

Something inside told him that she was. And so, tired and exhausted as he was, he decided to play along.

"Hey? What about when I saved you from Rean? Doesn't that amount to anything?"

"Hm. So you saved me from him. What does that have to do with anything? Any moron could have done that."

"Calling me a moron, Sierra?"

"Don't be offended. In fact, I'm almost elevating you to the status. Your actual position in life would be that of _worm_."

"Worm? I see, your Majesty! I suppose next you'll have me bleeding from the neck so you can say I died in the attack when you actually sucked me dry."

"Don't talk back to me like that, you Harmonian underling!"

He lay back down, smiling in spite of himself. The pain had lessened now, and his grip on reality was becoming stronger as he played with her tired old arguments. "I thought we came to an understanding back there, Sierra. I thought things would be alright with us in the end. We could back to being all lovey-dovey just like before."

"I would rather relinquish my rune than touch you," she spat back, playing along with him. "You're the one who started this argument in the first place. Is that really how a gentleman is supposed to treat a lady? Or is this how you Harmonians do things in your war-mongering, backward society?"

"A lady? A lady! Hahaha. Gimme a break! I've met hundreds of ladies, but never a freak as rude and violent as you."

He realized as soon as he said it that it was his death wish.

She flew at him, the folds of her white dress swishing through the air as she rushed to him and in a trice had her firm hands around his neck. Gasping, he desperately tried to free himself, but she was too furiously determined to let him go.

"You Bastard! Imbecile!" she screamed as she shook him back and forth. "How dare you insult me like that! I should kill you on the spot, you horrid, foul thing!"

"Oh god Sierra! Let go of me!" She gave him one last shake and a ringing slap that left a deep red mark on his cheek.

"Thanks," he said dryly as she proudly surveyed her handiwork. "Real nice of you."

"Any more of that, Latkje," she said, placing her hands on her hips, "And I assure you, your face will be red for another reason entirely."

He rubbed his cheek, feeling the sore spot of skin that hurt painfully when he opened his mouth. "So anyway...what are we going to do now? Stay here for the night?"

She sighed, exasperated at a problem that was nonexistent to her. "Enough of this foolish banter," she said. "You're not the only one who has need of a bed. Shift over."

He meekly did as she instructed and soon found her soft slender body next to him, her knee kicking his leg and her balled fist jabbing him in the side. "Ow! Hey...you're going to sleep? It's night, dear vampire. Don't you have places to be?"

"I always have places to be," she snapped angrily, her hissing face hovering over his left ear. "But I'm exhausted. Taking care of the likes of you isn't exactly an easy task."

"Oh really? What did you have to do? Carry me to this cabin. Your supernatural strength would've more than taken care of that—well, that's one. Second...hmm, you had to take my cloak off me. Real tiring. Three, you had to give me some medicine. A chore indeed. Ah, and you had to light a candle. What an amazing task."

"Oh, you'll pay for that one," she whispered in a dead sort of way, her eyes tight with loathing. Her lithe body lay pressed up against his; the bed was uncomfortably—or comfortably—narrow.

"I'm sure I will, one day," he answered, closing his eyes. "But tell me, Sierra—you could easily throw me out and have the bed all to yourself—why not do that?"

She scowled. "You know, I was just thinking of it."

"Then why don't you?"

"And what if I did? With your luck, you'd be attacked by every single animal in the forest the moment you set foot outside this door. And my good deed would go to waste."

"Well," he responded, closing his eyes. "I didn't think you thought that way, Sierra."

"Thought what way?" she challenged, turning to face him.

He sighed, the breath escaping his chest in a sort of windy release, the inner echoes of air soothing him as he breathed again.

Seeing that he wasn't going to respond to her, she lay her head down on the bumpy pillow, watching him. And he was aware that she watched; he hadn't been trained in the Howling Voice Guild for nothing. He could almost see her face through his eyelids; thered stare roving over his face and hair, and over the veins in his neck.

Minutes passed before he chose to speak again. "Why are you watching me like this, Sierra?" He languidly opened one eye to peer at her.

"I have a right to, do I not?" she retorted loftily. "A trickster like you could easily deceive me if I do not keep watch."

"Hahaha," he laughed. "You're mislabeling both of us. First of all, I'm no trickster. I may have quite a few tricks up my sleeve, but I'm no trickster. There's a difference, you know. And second, even if I was some sort of cheat I could never fool you. Not in a million years."

"So you belittle yourself," she answered, amused. "Well. I was assigning you some skill, but I guess I was indeed giving you far too much credit."

"Hey, I never said that," he replied. "I just said that I could never fool you. I could fool a whole lot of people if I wanted; but not you. Never."

"Why do you believe that?" she questioned. He could tell her interest from the tones in her voice.

He opened his other eye and turned onto his side to stare directly at her. She steadily held his gaze, her manner suddenly impatient as he awaited the answer to his question.

The corners of his mouth twitched as he continued staring at her. Her brows furrowed. "What are you looking at?" she said, her edgy voice raspy in the candle's waning light.

"You're holding my gaze," he answered, his voice even and tempered.

"So? What importance does that hold?"

"A lot of women I've met in my lifetime can't do that, Sierra. Old, young, rich, poor, Harmonian or not. They accepted me as more powerful than they; they made pathways for me to walk, shortcuts for me to take. They couldn't look me in the eye because their faces would be too flushed. They wanted me to like them, love them, when many of them were just weak little girls looking for a knight in shining armor. I could fool them with a single lie, and even if that lie was the most outlandish story in the world they would believe it. Because it came from me.

"But you're no fair damsel in distress, Sierra. You don't make things easy for me at all. You beat me up, call me names, and show ingratitude at every turn. And it's different. It's kind of a thrill. Fair damsel, yes; but I'm the one in distress."

Her eyebrows were raised in disbelief. "I find that rather hard to swallow, Latkje."

He smiled. "It wasn't meant to go down easy."

She did nothing except pout her lips in confusion. The candle's flickering shadows cast honey golden lines on her pale skin as she lay there, every now and then focusing her eyes on him. He, on the other hand, had settled down into a comfortable silence, his eyes half-closed. He was staring contentedly at the candle, whose light seemed to bring some warmth into his soul.

"...No one's ever said anything like that about me," she whispered after a few minutes. He shifted his eyes to her. She was now lying on her back, staring up at the ceiling, her arms at her sides. "Well said."

"Thanks," he responded with a half-smile. Sierra looked to him.

"Now be quiet!" she exclaimed. "I must have some rest. I have a long day ahead of me tomorrow."

"Yes my darling," he answered sarcastically. He rolled over and closed his eyes.

-

Thirty minutes later he opened them. Was she still awake?

He turned over to take a glimpse. She was lying on her back, hands folded on her stomach. Her seemingly oblivious face still reflected the glow of the candle, which was beginning to die.

He propped his head up on one hand and studied her. Her face, her hair, her closed eyes—perfection. In the form of a conceited old bitch who couldn't stand a minute by his side without arguing.

But that was her beauty, then, wasn't it? That she was who was, and not what she thought he expected her to be. She was one of the only genuine people he had never met in his life—even through that rough, blood-sucking exterior she would always be her own woman. She would always be true to herself.

"You really are beautiful, old girl," he whispered. He couldn't resist; gingerly he stretched his hand out towards her face. Her cool, pale skin was smooth under his touch. Her eyelids fluttered, but she remained dormant.

_You think she's sleeping, but she's awake. She's a vampire, for crying out loud! Of course she knows what you just said, and what you're doing. She's letting you touch her now, but better be careful, Nash. Don't push it._

He ignored the inner dialogue. Of course she was awake. She was hundreds of years old, and a vampire at that! She had probably trained herself to wake to every sound and noise.

So why was she letting him touch her?

In the daytime hours she would have screamed and pulled out half the hair on his head if he attempted to do such a thing.

So why now?

He continued to ponder it as he stroked her cheek lightly, aware of her slowly flexing fingers. So serene, so ethereal...the complete opposite of what she was like during the day.

He decided to push it.

Slowly he leaned in close to her. Their faces touched; his still red cheek pressed up against her pale white face. Lightly and quickly he kissed her cheek.

Her eyelids fluttered again. She was trying not to open her eyes and start screaming, he bet. Or was she trying not to give in?

He kissed her cheek again, this time lingering. And then again, this time edging just a little bit closer to her mouth.

With each kiss he felt her reacting; her hands, so peacefully folded before, now clutched the blanket tightly. Sometimes he fancied her eyes opened a little less than half way; but in half a second they were once again closed.

Finally his mouth hovered over hers. Her lips, lithe and supple, moving ever so slightly as she lay there, beautiful and violent and edgy all at once. One of his hands gripped her shoulder, and the other still stroked her face.

"I don't understand why you're letting me do this, Sierra," he whispered. "Is it because of what I said before? I know it can't be just that. Could it be because you liked me from before? Somehow that doesn't seem possible. But...I'll take my chances, if that's okay with you." He smiled. "And I'm willing to suffer a broken jaw because of it."

He leaned in close and kissed her.

It was long, and deep, and refreshing. It seemed as if his very soul had opened up as he held her, his grasp around her tightening. He wanted more of her, he needed more of her! Kiss after kiss he bestowed upon her as they lay there in the waxing light.

He was about to kiss her once more when she whispered, "Enough."

He recoiled back suddenly. He had known she had been awake, but it was still rather disturbing to have it confirmed that she had indeed been conscious. She sat up, obviously short on words.

"You idiot..." she murmured, glaring at him. "Why...why did you do that?"

"I don't know," he faltered out. Why had he done it, anyway? Because he loved her? Because he wanted to know if she felt the same? Because he wanted to prove that it could be done? Or all of those things...

She sat staring at him for a while, her legs stretched out before her as she contemplated him. He in turn held her gaze.

"I'll have you know that no one's kissed me like that in a very long time," she said, looking down at her legs.

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"I can't be sure." She slowly lay back down and sighed, the folds in her skirt straightening as she turned towards him. "It never crossed my mind that you would do such a thing."

"Yeah, well, I'm just full of surprises," he replied, grinning.

"Heh. So it would seem. But you still haven't told me why."

He shrugged. "I really don't know. I guess I just felt like it."

"You _felt_ like it?" she repeated, her eyes narrowing. "Ah, I see. So Nash Latkje decides he wants to kiss Sierra while she's helpless and sleeping! A fitting thought for a Harmonian dog."

"You were _not_ asleep and you were definitely not helpless!" he answered. "You were awake the whole time and you did nothing. Don't try to lie to me! I know you weren't."

Her lips formed themselves into a line. "I just wanted to see how far you would go with it."

"So you were alright with it?"

She didn't reply.

"Dammit, Sierra," he muttered, crossing his arms over his chest. "Just tell me. Tell me now what you think about me and what you want me to do. If you hate me, despise me, wish me gone from your sight I'll gladly go!"

She didn't reply.

"What is it? What will it be?" His impatience mounted. His normally calm and witty exterior had melted into frenzied passion, and he felt he had to know the truth.

"I'll go, Sierra! I'll leave." He quickly climbed over her stationary form and placed his feet on the ground. Running his hands through his hair he reached for his traveling cloak. "I should have never asked you to search for the Rune with me. What would an old, decrepit vampire know about the world today, anyway? You were stuck in that stupid little village for hundreds of years, you conceited, murdering bitch."

At this she did reply.

She rose, grabbed him forcefully by the collar of his jacket, and roughly pressed her lips against his.

Confused surprise pervaded his thoughts as she kissed him, her hands tightly grasping his wide collar as he stood there, motionless, powerless against her. Through their connection he felt her wild, stormy passion welling up within, coursing through her, transferring to him. It was like electricity.

An instant later she broke it. She pulled back, her face angry as she took a small step backward, her arms automatically folding against her chest. He looked at her, still in the utmost confusion. What had she meant by it?

"There, you half-wit!" she exclaimed, with a great sweeping gesture. A red fury seemed to descend upon her as he beheld her. "I suppose I deserve to be called all those horrid things, Nash Latkje, but you will never remember me as one who did not share the truth with you! So there!"

He was dumbfounded. His arms hung limply at his sides as she shook with rage, teeth clenched and fists balled.

For an eternity they stood there, anger and confusion and passion and anxiety all around them, surrounding them, swirling around them, as they watched each other intently.

Then, in an instant, he was embracing her.

"I'm sorry, old girl," he whispered into her ear. "Guess I got a little carried away back there."

"Don't apologize to me, Latkje," she replied, the blood-red tears glistening beneath her closed eyelids. "You made your point. I hope mine was clear enough."

Her head rested limply on his shoulder now as his arms encircled her, and he was mystified that she had not pushed him away. On the contrary—one arm reached for his shoulder and grasped it firmly; the other went up to his cheek. She ran her fingers over his warm, tan skin and opened her eyes. Staring up at the ceiling, she whispered softly, intimately:

_"But I must go on alone."_

"What do you mean?" he asked, his eyes focused on the floor beneath them, the window, the walls. He already knew what she meant.

She sighed. She could not look him in the eyes; she had to tell him now. "Nash...I had been planning to leave tomorrow morning, before you awoke. Our journey together is done. From here our paths will go separate ways. There are urgent needs that call my attention. And I must go on by myself."

He comprehended what she said, her calm words, precise diction. But he could not accept it. "You can't just leave me behind. I'll come with you."

"You cannot," she answered stiffly, some of the old acidity returning. "Your mission calls you to search for a Rune. Mine calls elsewhere."

He closed his eyes as he whispered, "I don't care. I'll go with you."

"You know you cannot."

"Why?"

"Don't you understand, Latkje! I _used_ you! I came with you solely for the purpose of finding Rean! I needed to know where he was, and I needed to have an adequate source of blood in case my energy diminished. I don't care one bit about your mission or that Rune...now that my own task is completed, I'm leaving you. Abandoning you. I wasn't planning on telling you I wasn't going to be here in the morning."

At this she pushed him away, her face again strained and angry, pensively folding her arms against her chest. "We are too different, you and I! You, you care so much about a thing you should not...and I...I care too little."

He reached out again to grasp her shoulders, and the strength of his reply shook her. "It doesn't matter, Sierra. To me it doesn't matter. A little can be quite a lot."

She turned away from him abruptly, and he could see that her eyes were quickly becoming two deep pools of red. Ashamed, she composed herself by taking a few quick breaths.

"See what you've done, you imbecile! You've greatly upset me. I cannot take this abuse any longer. I will go, now."

She started for the door, her pale hand reaching for the rusty knob.

"Wait!" his impassioned voice called to her. She reluctantly turned back. "You don't mean all that you say, you liar! You care about me. I may not have heard it but I felt it. I know, Sierra! I know." There was desperation in his voice. Desperation, and anger, and fear. "Is this it, then? Will this be the last time I ever see you again? Will you end it like this? _Will you end it like this!"_

There were tears in his eyes too.

The door was halfway open; the rainy night beckoned. She could dash out, running, never looking back. She could forget about him and move on to greater and more important things. She could find love just as she had found love with Rean.

_And she had looked love in the eye and spat upon its face._

The moment was eternal; her hand flexing on the knob, his fists clenched in wretched determination, the blue eyes with their mortal tears glaring at the red pair their with immortal ones.

_It would be so easy to leave._

She stepped forward.

"When all this is through...when I have finally accomplished what I set out to do...and if I do come back unscathed...I will find you."

A new, gloomy sort of hope suddenly flooded his system. "Unscathed? Will you be in great danger? How...how will you find me?" Questions littered his confused mind.

She smiled sadly—he noted it was the first genuine smile she had ever bestowed upon him.

"I will be in danger, and I will overcome it. I hope so, at least. And I will find you, young one. I promise. But now I must continue on, and you must continue on. But keep in mind for our next meeting..."

She came forward and took his face in her hands. He almost winced at their sudden chill, but quickly calmed as she brought her face up to his.

"...you must always kiss me goodnight."

She kissed his lips gently, lovingly, and in the simple act he felt her soul permanently ingrained within his mind. She was there.

She slowly broke away and started for the door. "But don't have too much fun, you clumsy fool," she warned him, his voice becoming steely and rigid once more. "I'll probably find a lot more amusement where I'm headed to than you'll ever find in your entire life."

She stopped at the door and turned, her figure framed in the dim light. "Good night," she said briskly, and in a moment she was gone.

He ran to the doorway and looked out for any sign of her departing figure. But there was none. She was too quick for his eye; one vampiric move and she was invisible, supernatural. And she was gone.

The horrid, lazy, complacent, rude, acid-tongued bitch was gone.

And then he wondered: why? Why did he love her? What was it that made her so attractive to him? She was none of the things a good woman should be! She called him names, bossed him around, treated him as an inferior—

And the truth was...

He didn't know.

He stood at the door for a long time, taking in the sound of the gently falling rain, the wind blowing gently through the hair, his eyes staring blankly ahead of him, straining to see into the darkness.

Finally he spoke. "Goodnight, Sierra," he whispered. "We will meet again."

**Author's Note:**

> Original notes from 2004: Hoped you liked my little Suikogaiden story! I really like the Nash x Sierra coupling...I've been interested in it ever since I started playing Suikoden. The idea of such a horribly mismatched couple—Nash, a brave, witty adventurer, and Sierra, a bored, bossy vampire—seems like a horror story when you write about it, but it was played out VERY well in Suikogaiden, and is probably one of the best "subtle" romances I've ever come across. Here's hoping Sierra really is Nash's missus!


End file.
